


Spaghetti

by wavewright62



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Flash Fic, Fleeting mention of poor ol' No-Arms, Food, Gen, Grumpy Old Men, Needs cat spit, No Plot/Plotless, Sundry Västerströms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 16:40:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15867588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wavewright62/pseuds/wavewright62
Summary: Trond is not being served his favourite meal.





	Spaghetti

**Author's Note:**

> Of all the foods we know as Scandinavian, spaghetti isn't up there. Yet, it makes several appearances in SSSS in canon.

Trond scowled at the plate Siv handed him. Spaghetti. _This is food for invalids,_ he moped. _Back in Norway, we serve this to the poor sods who have injured their hands so badly they can’t manage forks and knives. They put their faces down into the plate and slurp the spaghetti as best they can, but no one else in fit condition would ever willingly eat a plate of the stuff in public._

The three changeling brats were also eating theirs, the oldest one with his fingers. The youngest child spilled his spaghetti down the front of his sweater, making him look even more like his hapless cousin than usual. Trond watched Torbjörn take his plate and tuck in with gusto. _Well, I guess it holds true in Sweden as well, can’t trust this lot with sharp objects, or raising children._ Unbidden, a memory came back to him of a food fight in his youth back in Norway, when his own hands were injured but he managed to fling a plate of spaghetti by tossing it like a discus using his teeth. _We were warriors, that was different._

 _At least I can demonstrate the proper manners,_ he thought to himself as he delicately wound a small forkful of pasta around his fork. It slipped off. He wound it delicately again. It slipped off again. His upper lip unconsciously curled into a snarl as he took a larger swirl of spaghetti onto his fork and quickly held it horizontally to keep it on. It slipped off. He made a show of massaging his hand, and muttering, “old troll wound,” but no one was watching him. He wound the spaghetti, and quickly got the forkful in his mouth before it could slip off. The sauce spattered on his face and pince-nez. The little brat girl was smirking at him from across the table.

He took his plate and stalked off into the lounge to eat his dinner at the radio. Siv’s meatballs were truly terrible, maybe this was the recipe they used for feeding the test subjects in that lab of hers. He’d toured the lab once, with its tanks full of trolls and beasts, with all those worms sticking out of them like…. He put his plate on the console, his appetite ruined.

The Finnish mage Onni was standing up to eat his plate. Taru was translating his Finnish garble for Siv, saying he enjoyed it, but his face said different. He knew Finns were used to eating outside at communal tables in all weather. They probably just cared if their unrefined mush was hot enough to make it to the table without getting cold. Did they even have anything as refined as noodles in that backwater military base he came from? What did they serve the invalids, if everybody ate soup and gruel all the time anyway?


End file.
